


Three Pence

by flippyspoon



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Amnesia, Drama, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-29
Updated: 2014-04-20
Packaged: 2018-01-17 10:09:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1383625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flippyspoon/pseuds/flippyspoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James has no memories of his life.  All he knows is that the handsome raven-haired man who says he's a friend makes him feel like everything might turn out alright.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Total trope fic. Do not read this for medical accuracy, heh.

The man was swimming in a big building full of water.  Blurry objects floated past his head.  Wouldn’t he drown if he didn’t find a way out?

“Mr. Kent.”

The sounds were garbled and deep.

“Mr. Kent, squeeze my hand if you hear me?”

It took him a while to understand the words and then to make sense of them.

“Mr. Kent, squeeze my hand?”

In the first place, he had no idea who Mr. Kent was.

But to be on the safe side, he squeezed the hand holding his own.

Everything was still watery and dark for a long while in the cool water of the great big building.

Then finally he found himself surfacing slowly.  He would’ve swam forever if it’d been up to him but something kept pushing him up up up to light and air.

He opened his eyes.

A white haired man with a mustache was smiling down at him.  “Ah, very good,” said the man.  “Good afternoon, Mr. Kent.”

The man blinked and said, “Good afternoon.”  His voice came out a bit raspy. His brain felt dull and his head hurt.

“How do you feel?”  The white-haired man squinted at him.

The young man was in a bed under a thick blanket and he shifted, reaching up to his aching head where he felt a thick bandage.  His left leg was in a thick cast.

“Not…well.”  The young man managed to say.

For one thing this man who he supposed was a doctor kept calling him Mr. Kent which…did not feel remotely familiar.

And worse, nothing else did either.

He was in a large well lit room.  There were a couple of other beds in the room, all empty.   Sunlight was slightly muted by white curtains at the big windows.

“Am I in a hospital?”

“The village hospital, yes,” the doctor said, smiling kindly.

The young man’s heart was starting to race as he was fully beginning to realize that he had no idea who or where he was.

“Village?  What village?”  Mr. Kent said.

_Mr. Kent…Mr. Kent?_

“Downton…”  

Mr. Kent blinked at him.  

The doctor was frowning now.  He tilted his head and gave Mr. Kent long look.  “Mr. Kent, does the name Downton not sound familiar to you?”

Mr. Kent  shook his head.  “No.”

“Do I look familiar to you?”

Mr. Kent’s heart was starting to race.  “Uh...no.”

“Do you…know your name?”

“Mr. _Kent_ ,” Mr. Kent said a bit snidely.  “I guess.”  The gradual realization that he couldn’t remember...anything crept up on him.  It was there like vapor; untouchable.

“Do you know your Christian name?”

He thought about it.  He truly tried, which felt odd.  One shouldn’t have to try so hard to remember one’s name.  It was the oddest sensation.  It was also horribly frightening.

“No,” he said, blushing.  Fancy not knowing your own name.

“Your name is James.  James Kent.  Not familiar?”  The doctor said.  Now he looked very worried indeed.

James shook his head.

“What’s the last thing you remember?”  The doctor said.

James grasped for something.  Anything.  His head throbbed.  “I don’t…  There’s nothing.”  He said quietly.  “I feel as if there should be.  I know there should be.  But I can’t get hold of it.”

His hands were shaking and he hid them under the blanket.

“I see,” the doctor said.  “Well, let’s not panic yet, Mr. Kent.  James. Your memory may very well return shortly.  You’ve only just woken up.  I’m sure you’re disoriented.   I’m Dr. Clarkson and I’m going to be looking after you.”  
“W-what happened to me then?”  James said.  “How’d I get like this?  How could my whole memory be gone, just wiped away?”

“You had a terrible fall,” the doctor said.  “Apparently you were rather drunk and you were eh...attempting to climb up to a window.  Your own bedroom window, I believe.  That was a guess.  No one saw you do it.  The door was locked.  It was very late at night.  And you fell.  You weren’t found til the morning.”

“Oh…” James nodded.  “Oh.  That’s...stupid.  But you say my memory will come back?”

“I said it might,” Dr. Clarkson said.  “But there is a good chance. Amnesia is often temporary.  Though I’ve never dealt with a case like yours before.  This extremity of loss may well fade in a matter of hours.  But we shall have to see.  How’s your pain right now?”

“My head aches something awful,” James muttered.  “Leg hurts a bit too.”

“I can give you something for the pain, but it might make things fuzzier-”

“No!  No, I don’t want that,” James said quickly.

“Alright.  Well, there are a few people here to see you.  Might spark your memory?”

“Really?”  James sat up a little.  “Well, they must.  They must if I know them.”

“Well…”  The doctor sighed.  “You’ve met me before as well.  More than once. But you know them much better.  I’ll bring them in, if you like?”

James felt a swoop of dread at the thought that he had actually met the doctor before and didn’t know him.  But maybe it had only been in passing.  Yes, that was a decent explanation.  Maybe he had possessed a terrible memory even before his fall and might not have remembered the doctor anyway.

Dr. Clarkson stood and left the room.  James was left alone and he attempted to calm himself.

“James,” he mumbled.  “James Kent.”

 _What if I don’t remember them_ , he thought.   _That will be awful._

The feeling of it hadn’t occurred to him and suddenly he didn’t want the people to come.  He started to climb out of bed, but as he rose (with a broken leg no less) a pain burst into his head as if he’d been shot and he lay down quickly, breathless.  He had hardly come to his senses again when the doctor returned with three strangers in tow.

There was an older man, about as old as the doctor, James guessed.  And a woman of a similar age.  They both looked frightfully concerned.

More importantly there was a younger man behind them.

He wore a grey suit and he was holding a hat in his hand.  He had raven black hair and…

And he was devastatingly handsome.  When James saw him he immediately felt relieved, as if everything couldn’t be awful now this man had arrived.  Even though logically, he had no idea who the man was.

_I must know him… Who the bloody hell is he?_

“James?”  The woman said.  She sat down by his bed and rested a hand on his arm.  “James, oh dear, you poor boy.  Do you..know me, James?”

There were emotions roiling around under the surface.  Clues perhaps.  He felt a sense of respect for the woman and a little irritation.

“Are you my mother?”  He said, taking a wild stab.  He pointed up to the the dour looking man who had come with her.   “And you, my father?”

“I should say not,” the man said.  “Heaven help us-”

“Mr. Carson!”  The woman said.  

Mr. Carson cleared his throat.  “I’m… I apologize, James. You’re not quite yourself after all.  I’ve forgotten.”

“Yeah, seems to be going around,” James mumbled. But his eyes were trained on that beautiful person standing in the back.  He was staring down at the floor, wearing an unreadable expression.

“You,” James said, nodding at him.  “Should I know you?  I’m sorry I don’t...I don’t remember you either.  Feel as though I ought to…”

James’ cheeks warmed even speaking to him.  

The handsome man looked up at him finally, now utterly stricken.  “Sorry, I…I’ll wait in the hall.”  Then he turned and left the room.

“I did know him,” James said.  “Now I’ve hurt his feelings.”  There was a prickling at the back of his neck, it was horror.

“Don’t worry about Mr. Barrow,” Mr. Carson said firmly.  “I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

“Mr. Barrow…” James whispered.  He hated the thought of it. What if they were very close?  Judging by the man’s reaction, they seemed to be.  “So who are you all, if you aren’t my family?”

“We work at Downton Abbey,” Mr. Carson said, smiling kindly.  “I’m the butler and Mrs. Hughes here is the housekeeper-”

“Butler…” James’ eyes lit up.  “Am I a rich man then?”

Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes started to laugh and caught themselves. “Ah, afraid not,” Mrs. Hughes said.  “You’re first footman, lad.  And we’re your superiors,”

“Oh,” Jimmy said, feeling quite put out.  “I’m a servant.  Is Mr. Barrow a servant? He don’t look like one.”

Mr. Carson rolled his eyes. “Yes, he most certainly he is. He is under-butler.”

“So we work together?”  James said.  “And we all live there, don’t we?  Servants live in the house?”

Strange how some information was there as if he’d always known it but personal memories were banished.

“Yes,” Mr. Carson confirmed.

“And we’ll have you back in your room at Downton just as soon as you’re well enough to move,” Dr. Clarkson said.  “I’m sure you’d be more comfortable there.”

“Sure I would,” Jimmy muttered. “Look, what about family then? I must have parents or someone.  Or siblings or…”

Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes exchanged tragic expressions.  “We didn’t know ourselves,” Mrs. Hughes said.  “But Mr. Barrow says you told him your parents have passed away. And that you had no sisters or brothers.  We haven’t any information about any other relatives… I’m so sorry, dear.”

“Oh,” James said.  He felt like a lost child.  He was, truly.  An orphan with no memory.  He was horribly lost.  He only nodded.  “Oh. Well then…”

He had a lump in his throat and tears pricked his eyes.  He turned away.

“Oh James,” Mrs. Hughes said.

“Please leave, I want to be alone,” James said, clutching his blankets.

“James,” Mr. Carson said, “We’ll help you in any way-”

“I don’t know you!” James shouted, all his panic rising up and bursting out.  “I don’t know any of you! I don’t know who I am! Just get away! I need to be alone!  Go!”

“Let’s leave him for a bit, shall we,” Dr. Clarkson said softly.  

Mrs. Hughes was nearly in tears herself and they all left the room.

James lay in bed for hours as day turned to night.  A nurse checked in on him from time to time and Dr. Clarkson returned.  James felt nearly paralyzed with fear and he talked to himself inwardly, trying to make sense of things and calm his nerves. With prodding from Dr. Clarkson, he agreed to more visitors the next day, in hopes they might spur his memory on.  There was a portly rosy-cheeked cook and two slightly daft kitchen maids.  There was a grim-faced valet and his lady’s maid of a wife who seemed nice enough.  There was an Irishman in a very fine suit…  Later there were titled sorts; his employers, he was told.  A gentleman, his wife, and his two pretty daughters who made fine little speeches about how he would be carefully looked after, no matter the cost.  The people came; one after another every few hours and they spoke cheerfully, but their eyes betrayed them.  They pitied him.  They all created subtle emotional impressions too, from a faint sense of camaraderie to aggravation and disdain.  But it was all so nuanced, he wasn’t certain what was caused by hidden memories or what was based on a first impression.

James asked every visitor if Mr. Barrow would be coming again.  No one seemed a certain.  A couple appeared surprised at him asking.

With every visitor James just became more and more struck with panic and dread because no memories had yet returned.

Finally, as dusk was setting in casting the room in an amber glow, Mr. Barrow did come back.  He was wearing his grey suit again, though he looked a bit rumbled, his hair falling into his eyes.  He wasn’t wearing his hat.  When he walked through the door, James sat up with a start and his head throbbed so that he hissed in pain.

Mr. Barrow dashed to his bedside, “Jimmy, are you alright? Shall I get the doctor?”

James felt a sense of comfort suddenly and sat back on the bed, shifting his pillows behind him.  “It’s fine, honestly.  You called me Jimmy.”

Everyone else had either called him James so far or had not happened to say his name.

Mr. Barrow stood awkwardly by the bed.  “You’ve always preferred it before.”

“Sit down, won’t you?” James said.  “If you can stay a minute?”

Mr. Barrow took a seat.  He was carrying a newspaper and he handed it over.  “I brought you this.  I could bring a book or somethin’ next time if you like.  I’ve got you cards too…”  He took a deck of cards out of his jacket pocket and dropped them on the bed.

“Thank you,” James said.  “Am I good at cards?”

“You uh…” Mr. Barrow shrugged.  “You like poker best but you’re a rubbish bluffer.”

“Huh.”  Jimmy smiled, even though it was terribly odd to hear someone tell him about himself.  But he felt so much better now Mr. Barrow had come.

Thomas glanced around and then surreptitiously took a packet of cigarettes out of his jacket and lit one for himself.  “I hope you don’t mind-”  
James immediately decided he needed one too. “God no, can you spare one?”

Mr. Barrow lit him one and James took a long drag.  It was the best he’d felt since...well, since he could remember. Which wasn’t saying much.  
“Didn’t even know I smoked,” James muttered.  

“I think I started you on that habit,” Thomas said.  He seemed mournful.

“Are we very close then?  Friends, I mean,” James said quickly.  

“You’re the only friend I’ve got,” Thomas said.  “I don’t know that we’re very close though.”

“No?”  That disappointed him  “Why not?”

Thomas looked startled by the question.  “I suppose…”  He cleared his throat.  “Well, we haven’t been friends all that long. About two years, I’d say.”

“Sounds like a long time to me,” James muttered.

“I guess...neither of us is disposed to being very close to anyone generally,” Mr. Barrow said.  But he seemed even more sullen about the whole line of questioning.  “We keep to ourselves, you and I.”

“Oh,” James said.

“Look, that’s not to say we can’t be,” Mr. Barrow said.  “That is, I’ll do whatever I can to help you.  Anything.”

_He’s so kind, Jimmy thought.  And no one else brought me anything.  Terribly kind._

That wasn’t strictly true. The cook had brought him biscuits. But they were gone now and didn’t do much for distracting the mind from boredom.

“Do you think I’ll get my memory back?”  James said.  He smoked and fidgeted with the deck of cards.

“I think there’s a very good chance of it,” Mr. Barrow said.  “Dr. Clarkson thinks so.  Might not get it all back at once.  But yes.  Yes, I think you will.”

“I’m sorry, it must be hard.  Me not remembering you,” James said darkly.

“I’m sure it’s much harder for you,” Mr. Barrow said.  He sat back in his chair and when he took a drag he sucked in his cheeks. James didn’t breathe for the briefest moment. Mr. Barrow was just so lovely to look at.  The way he carried himself…

He must have lost his head for a moment gazing thoughtlessly at Mr. Barrow who eventually said, “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Oh.  Yes.  I was just…I was miles away.”  James tittered and squirmed under his blankets.  Mr. Barrow comforted him and made him nervous at the same time.  But not in a frightening way.  Though somewhere deep down there was an element of fear…

But everything else overwhelmed it now, most especially the awful thought that he would never get his memory back.

James’ head was throbbing and he lay down but turned to keep his eyes on Mr. Barrow.  “Do any of the others at Downton know me better than you do then?  It didn’t seem like it but…”

“Ah, I don’t know,” Mr. Barrow said quietly.  “Maybe...Ivy? Um…”

“Ivy?”  James frowned at him.  “Who’s Ivy then?”

“She visited you, I’m told.  The kitchen maid.”

“Oh, she seemed nice enough,” James said brightly.  “Didn’t know what to say but she were sweet.  Kept talkin’ about some bloke called Alfred though-”

“Ha, ah no.  That’s Daisy  The other one.  Bit taller?”

“Oh.”  James racked his brain to remember the other maid he’d met. “Oh. _Her_? No, I’m sure you’re wrong.  That one’s got the personality of a lamp post without the lamp.”

Mr. Barrow laughed, so hard he choked on his cigarette smoke, which made James laugh.

“Sorry,” James said, chuckling. “If you’re fond of her or somethin’...”

“Ah, no.  I don’t give one fig what you say about Ivy Stuart.”  Mr. Barrow sighed.  “I’m sorry I’m not more cheerful.  Feel like I should try to keep your spirits up.”

“Lord, no,” James said.  “Everyone else is just pretendin’ like it’s all normal.  But I can tell they pity me.”

“It... _is_ hard to see you this way,” Mr. Barrow said quietly.  “Hurt for one thing.  And the amnesia on top of it.”

“God, what a stupid way to lose your memory,” James muttered.  “Drunk and climbing up to a window.  Have I always been such an idiot?”

Mr. Barrow tittered and said, “Well, not to me.  But...probably.”

“I can see why we’re friends,” James said, laughing. “You must keep me in line.”

“Hardly,” Mr. Barrow said, and a dark expression clouded his face. James wondered if he blamed himself for his accident somehow, but it seemed too intimate a thing to ask.  

James wanted to talk further. He wanted to know more about his life at Downton, but his head hurt so badly he had to shut his eyes and Mr. Barrow insisted on bringing in Dr. Clarkson who just gave him medicine that made him go to sleep.  The next couple of days were a haze until suddenly a week had passed.  When he was awake he was gripped by panic as hour by hour passed by without any returning memories.   He always wished Mr. Barrow was around because he felt so comforted by the man’s presence, but he had yet to return.  So Jimmy slept and sometimes tried to play cards.  He knew how to play Solitaire but didn’t know when or where he’d learned it.  He made a nonsensical game of concentrating on each card one by one hoping the image of it would spark something.  

But there was nothing.

And there was no word on when he would be returning to Downton.

Also, his leg itched.

It was only a village hospital which meant he wasn’t in a private room and he was awake when a woman died in childbirth.  The next day a man came in suffering from gout and he often moaned in pain til James wanted to beat him senseless.  That was followed by a dying old man.  

It made James feel like he was dying.

He wanted to go for a walk outside at least, but the nurses were always busy and Dr. Clarkson wouldn’t let him go alone and he couldn’t walk without crutches...which he didn’t have.

He thought he’d go mad.  He was rude to everyone.  He had no appetite, but on Dr. Clarkson’s insistence he forced food down his throat.  The cook, Mrs. Patmore, brought him a lemon cake and James managed a “thank you” and nothing else.  

She was the only visitor he had all week outside of a Mrs. Crawley, an older woman somehow related to the family at Downton, who had nothing important to say but appeared to be visiting him out of a sense of philanthropy that made him feel yet more pathetic.

When no one else was around he wept himself to sleep and dreamed he was drowning.

One morning, exhausted and desperate, he finally burst out at Dr. Clarkson.

“I want to know when I’ll be going back to Downton!”  James said, he was spitting angry.  He felt like an unwanted object being left to rot.  Which, if he was, they could at least tell him so.  “It can’t be because I’m not well enough! Why am I still here?”

“I was told the Crawleys have had several visitors this week,” Dr. Clarkson said. Even he looked tired. “But it’s all being arranged.”

“You’re lying!  You’re lying!” James babbled.  “They just don’t want me! Why would they? I’m no good to them-”

“That’s not why, I assure you.  If you’ll just be patient-”

He was interrupted by James throwing his platter of uneaten breakfast to the floor.  Then he clenched his fists and began to scream and thrash.  Eventually he had to be sedated and Dr. Clarkson restrained him, tying his wrists to his bed.

The next afternoon he woke from a nap to hear shouting outside the door and Mr. Barrow burst in looking as angry as James felt.  When he saw that James’ wrists were tied to the bed he whipped around and bellowed at Dr. Clarkson.  “He’s still restrained!”

“He was unstable, Mr. Barrow!  You know very well that-”  
“We’re going back to Downton now,” Mr. Barrow said, and went about unbuckling James' restraints. “Put your shoes on.”  James was a little dazed but he sat up, shaking his hands out and put on the shoes he had been found wearing.  He was wearing his pajamas and a robe and he cinched the belt around himself.

“Has Lord Grantham authorized-”  
“I’m perfectly willing to take responsibility!” Mr. Barrow barked.  “Get some crutches, will you?”

Thomas helped James along and in the their rush out of the hospital they didn’t speak until they were standing outside waiting to flag down a car that might be going by Downton Abbey because Mr. Barrow had walked to the hospital.

“Are you alright, Jimmy?”  Mr. Barrow asked, and turned to him.  He started to rest a hand at James’ shoulder and withdrew.

James only nodded, dumbstruck.

Mr. Barrow looked down at James’ right wrist, red and raw from pulling at his restraints.  “Don’t look alright.”

James was unsteady on his crutches, but he tried to hide his hand.  “Didn’t give em’ much of a choice, I s’pose.”

Mr. Barrow lit a cigarette, which they shared.  “I didn’t know you were so miserable in there,” Mr. Barrow said.  “I didn’t… It’s only because Downton has been in a state lately with one stupid thing and another.  But if I’d known you were… I’m sorry anyway.”

“Thought they were turnin’ me out,” James muttered and inhaled deeply on the cigarette.  “Downton, I mean.  And I wouldn’t have anywhere to go if they did. I lost my head is all.”

“No! No, they aren’t.”  And Mr. Barrow covered James’ hand with his own.  James noted for the first time that Mr. Barrow wore a strange glove on his left hand.  He hadn’t even seen it before.  “And ya wouldn’t be out on the street anyway, I’d look after you.  I promise.”

James gazed up at Mr. Barrow just as a lorrie pulled over to drive them up to the Abbey.  He was beginning to get an idea of their friendship.

 _I’ll bet I was awfully in love with him_ , he thought. _And how could I not have been?  He’s absolutely wonderful._

 


	2. Chapter 2

Thomas was gutted.

More than that, he was floundering.

He had, in fact, been the one to find Jimmy at seven o’clock in the morning after his fall.  Jimmy had not come down to breakfast, was not in his room, and Thomas’s heart had begun to race.  Finding him there on the ground unconscious, bloody, and cold, had been among the worst moments of his life.  Although it was a long list.  The hours following were a blur.  Jimmy was out for an entire day and a half before he woke up.  Thomas had simply refused to work for that lost day, much to Carson’s dismay.  In such times, Thomas supposed everything became very clear or very muddled.  What was his job to him when Jimmy was in trouble?  Even after so much strife to keep his place at Downton, it mattered not a whit to him in comparison.

Of course, Jimmy didn’t know Thomas had found him that morning.

Jimmy didn’t know a lot of things now.

He didn’t know about Thomas’s week of sleepless nights, smoking and pacing.  He probably didn’t know that Thomas had stopped by the hospital to check up on him everyday that week, but Jimmy had nearly always been sleeping when he did.  Twice Jimmy had been awake but Thomas couldn’t bear to speak to him again.  He dreaded it.  

To see his hard won best friend gaze on him blankly as if he were nothing but  a stranger had been all too much, and still worse when he had visited Jimmy though he tried his best.

The most he could hope for was that Jimmy got his memory back quickly.

 _But what if he doesn’t?_   Thomas thought, as he helped Jimmy up the back steps after the short ride from the hospital.

Thomas supposed that if Jimmy didn’t get his memory back he’d have the chance to build their friendship the way he should have in the first place.  Now that he knew what Jimmy was about, he would never make the same mistake again.

The only danger was in Jimmy finding out their history together.  There was no guarantee that this Jimmy would remain friends with him knowing it- without Thomas’s wounds in front of his face.

Thomas had no plan for that, but he wasn’t about to reveal the whole stormy truth any time soon.  He hoped no one else would.  Though should he mention it, it would only sound like some dastardly scheme.

Which...he supposed it was…

“Good Lord,” Molesley said, his eyes big as saucers as Thomas and Jimmy staggered in.  He  pointed at Jimmy. “You’re wearin’ your night clothes!”  

“Yes, Mr. Molesley, well spotted,” Thomas muttered.

Jimmy looked startled and Thomas remembered that as far as he knew, a total stranger was accusing him of being underdressed.

“Let’s get you up to your room,” Thomas said.

On their way down the hall they were met by an apoplectic Mr. Carson.  Thomas had not asked before going to the hospital, though there was still plenty of time until dinner.

“Where have you- Oh, James!”  Mr. Carson was as blustery as Thomas might have expected.  “Has Lord Grantham-”

“No, he hasn’t, so sack me if ya like,” Thomas said quickly.

“That was uncalled for,” Mr. Carson said. Thomas kept them moving.

“Will you be in trouble?” Jimmy said.

“No time for penance, I’m afraid,” Thomas assured him.  “The house is full up.  Lady Mary’s suitors have come a’calling.  They’re vying for the prize.”

“Which one is Lady Mary?”  Jimmy was wide eyed.  People kept staring and nodding happy hellos as they staggered upstairs. Thomas glared at them.

“The eldest.  Her husband was killed in a wreck three years ago.  He was the heir. But she did manage a son first.”

“Oh.”

“Does um...anything seem familiar?”  Thomas helped Jimmy into his room

Jimmy leaned on his crutches for a moment, frowning at his sparsely decorated little dormitory. “Sort of...feels like I might have dreamed it.”  He hobbled over to his vanity.  “Why do I have so many mirrors?”

“Have you looked in one lately?” Thomas said.

Jimmy glanced up into the largest mirror and stared into it.  He didn’t look his best, particularly with a bandage around his forehead.  But he was still gorgeous.  Or Thomas thought so anyhow.

“That’s why,” Thomas cracked.

Jimmy ducked his head and Thomas wondered if he was already stepping over his bounds.

_Better put a stop to that._

“I look strange to myself, “Jimmy mumbled.

Thomas only said, “How do ya feel?” He poked around in drawers, since of course it was all alien to Jimmy who stood on one leg, leaning against his crutch and looking lost.  Thomas found fresh pajamas and laid them out for the next day.

“Terrible.”

“You ought to get into bed then,” Thomas said.  Jimmy half collapsed onto the cot.  “Careful!”

“M”alright…”  Jimmy said and sighed.  He had dark circles under his eyes.  “You’re awfully nice since you say we’re not all that close.”

“Well, I’m a philanthropist,” Thomas said.  “Ask anyone.”

“Really?”  He looked so forthright.

It should have been funny but it only served to remind Thomas of the divide now between them as he shifted Jimmy’s pillows around under his head and took his shoes, setting them on the floor.  “No,” he said.  “But the mood struck me.”

“Lucky me then, I guess..”

Thomas smiled down at him, uncertain, but a shadow clouded Jimmy’s face and he turned his head away.  “I-I’m quite tired s-suddenly though, if ya don’t mind-”

Thomas thought he might be weeping.  Dr. Clarkson had said he was prone to mood swings.  And worse.  But being alone in a hospital couldn’t have helped.  Surely he would fare better at Downton.

“Do you need anything? Clarkson gave me your medicine?”  He set in at Jimmy’s bedside.  “Or tea or-”

“N-no, nothing.”  Jimmy had turned over on his side and he burrowed his head into his pillow.

“Jimmy-”

“I’m fine, thank you.”

And Thomas left him.

 

“Can’t imagine losing all my memories,” Baxter said at dinner.  “Poor soul.”

“Well, he’s a footman,” Molesley said, with a nervous chuckle. “S’pose he can learn to carry a tray again easily enough.”

Everyone winced and Thomas said smoothly, “You’ll lose more than your memories if ya don’t pipe down.”

“Temper, Mr. Barrow,” Mr. Carson said, and Thomas clenched his jaw.

“Is he in a very bad way?”  Anna said quietly.  

“He’s not a in good way, I know that,” Thomas said.

“I’m sure he’s lucky to have you looking out for him” Anna said, and smiled.

Thomas was a dash taken aback at that.

“We’ll all be looking out for him,” Carson said.  “Mr. Barrow can only do so much.”

“If we’d all been lookin’ out for him, he might have been home sooner,” Thomas grumbled.  “Instead of under the care of that quack.”

 _If we’d all been looking out for him he wouldn’t have fallen in the first plac_ e, Thomas thought.  In fact, Jimmy had been drinking far more regularly just before his fall.

“That’s no way to talk about Dr. Clarkson”, Carson said.

Mrs. Hughes muttered her disagreement on that count and Thomas smirked.

Anna, to her credit, ignored Carson.  “Will  _you_  let me know if I can do anything, Mr. Barrow?”  She said.  “Anything at all.”

Thomas nodded his thanks.

Though he was beginning to doubt the role he’d reflexively undertaken as Jimmy’s caretaker.  Just because he cared, didn’t mean he was wanted.  Jimmy had looked so overwhelmed when Thomas had sworn he wouldn’t be left to himself if things went wrong.  Maybe he was coming on too strong.  He was only a stranger to Jimmy.  There were other things too; how he’d brightened up at thinking of Daisy.  It might be nothing.  But if it wasn’t, well, Daisy was worth ten of Ivy, Thomas knew that much.  There was a certain tragic poetry to the thought, given how Thomas had led Daisy on years ago.

After dinner Thomas found Daisy in the kitchen.  He’d sent her up with Jimmy’s tray.

“How is he?”  He itched for a cigarette.

“Seemed sad to me,” Daisy said mournfully.  “He asked me if we were friends and I said not really and he seemed sadder.”

“You couldn’t have lied?”  Thomas said, narrowing his eyes.  “Honestly, Daisy…”

Daisy looked scandalized. “Ya can’t lie about a thing like that!”

“Listen, I’m going to ask if Jimmy can borrow Mr. Matthew’s old chair.  That he used when he was injured.  I’ve seen it in the attic.  Thought Jimmy could use it to get some fresh air.”

“Oh, that’s nice!”  Daisy chirped.

“Do you suppose you could take him out tomorrow afternoon?”  Thomas said.  “I’ll get Mrs. Patmore’s permission.”

“Me?”  Daisy said.  “Wouldn’t ya rather-”

“I think he likes you.”

Daisy only stared at him.

“Don’t you want to help him?”  Thomas said.

“Yeh, ‘course-”

“Thank you.”

And he left her.

He checked on Jimmy once that night, before he turned in.  And only then because Jimmy’s door was ajar.  He peeked in and saw Jimmy sitting on the end of his bed and staring at nothing.

“Hello?”  Thomas said quietly.

Jimmy jumped a little turned and said, “Oh! Come in.”

“Just wanted to see how you were getting on,” Thomas said.   
“Ah…”  Jimmy shook his head.  “I’ve been through all my drawers and things.  There’s not much.  A few pictures.  Seem familiar and unfamiliar at the same time.  Makes me a bit queasy.”  He stared down at his hands.  His cast-covered leg sat at an odd angle.

Thomas gazed down on him; pale, sick, and sad. He wanted to sit and put an arm around his friend, but he didn’t think that would go over very well, even if this Jimmy didn’t know about him.

“Um…” Thomas stood, uncertain.

“Could you tell me about myself?” Jimmy said, before Thomas found his sentence.

“Tell you about yourself?”

“Yeah, sit down, would you?”  Jimmy gestured at the chair near his bed.  “Just...tell me everything you know about me. Please. Haven’t got any family to tell me.”

Thomas nodded and took a seat.

He wondered how much he could tell Jimmy without actually lying. “Ah. Well… You came here in the spring of 1920 as a footman. You previously worked for the Dowager Lady Anstruther until she picked up for France-”

“Anstruther,” Jimmy muttered.  “Why’d I leave her?”

“I don’t know,” Thomas said, tittering.  “You’ve never really said. Thought maybe you just hated France or somethin’.”  Thomas spoke quickly, hoping that chronology could be glossed over.  “Anyhow, you eventually got promoted to first footman. We became friends. You flirted with Ivy and then started taking her out a bit-”

“Oh, come off it!”  Jimmy said.

“I’m not makin’ this up, you did,” Thomas insisted.  “But you had some falling out-”  
“But obviously I don’t-

“Don’t what?”  Thomas frowned at him.

“Nothin’,” Jimmy said.  “Just doesn’t seem like my type is all.”

“Heh.”  Thomas lit himself a cigarette.  “Yes well, I’ve heard that one before.”

“I don’t much want to hear about her,” Jimmy said. He shifted himself up to the head of his bed, grimacing as he moved his leg and Thomas rose to help him.  “Probably not much to tell really anyway.  Likely the same thing day in, day out…  I’ll probably get my memories back and hardly know the difference.”

Thomas thought that was a bit of depression talking, which made him nervous.  “I don’t know about that.  You do more than carry a tray.”

“Like what?”  Jimmy said.

“You...go to the flicks,” Thomas said.  “The theater even, and the pub, play cards and...you’re funny.  You don’t pretend this place is fantastic like the others do.  And I think you have...dreams.  Dreams that are bigger than Downton.”

“Dreams to do what?” Jimmy said.

“Travel the world...make a go of it on your own, I suppose,” Thomas said.  Though the thought haunted him.

“As a...traveling footman?”  Jimmy said, sneering.  “I was an idiot.”

“No, you weren’t!” Thomas snapped.  In an odd way he felt like he was defending Jimmy to a stranger.  

They were both quiet then and Thomas wondered if he should just leave.  He never knew the right thing to say.

“I just don’t get the feeling there was much to me,” Jimmy muttered.  “Or much good anyway.  And nothin’ important.”

“You were in a war, ya know,” Thomas said quietly.  “You had a childhood, friends, parents...someone’s loved you and you’ve loved someone, I imagine.  You’ve had a life.  Don’t you want to remember?  And you’re my friend so don’t say you’re not important and don’t say you aren’t good.”

Thomas’s voice had risen with his conviction and Jimmy stared at him, biting on his bottom lip.  “Thanks, he finally said.  “I...I wonder who I was in love with.”

Thomas smiled wryly and sat back in the chair.  “No one I know,” he admitted.  “That was a guess, to be honest.  But plenty have loved you, ya heartbreaker.”

Jimmy opened his mouth and closed it again.

“Um…” Thomas shrugged.  “You want to play a hand of cards?”

“Yeah,” Jimmy said.  He looked relieved.  But as Thomas was dealing, Jimmy said, “Who’s loved me?”

“Hmm?”  Thomas’s ears perked up.

“You said plenty of people have loved me?  Who?”  Jimmy was looking him dead in the eye and Thomas’s stomach twisted.

“Ivy, of course.”

“That’s not plenty.”

“Stands to reason, Jimmy Kent, that plenty have fallen for your charm.  Believe you me.”  He smiled easily.  That seemed to placate Jimmy and he finished dealing their hands.


	3. Chapter 3

Jimmy had thought of himself as Jimmy when Dr. Clarkson had told him that was his name.  But when Mr. Barrow said it, it felt more...like him.  Sometimes he found himself muttering it under his breath as if it might scare up memories.  
He got dressed in the morning and muttered, “Jimmy...Jimmy Kent.  James Kent.  No...definitely Jimmy Kent.”

Jimmy was at first delighted to be going outside, even given the humiliation of a wheelchair. He was able to hobble downstairs himself, but when he found the kitchen maid wiping flour off of her chin, standing ready next to his chair in the hall, he was disappointed.

“Oh.” He frowned.  “Where’s Mr. Barrow?”

“Busy, I expect,” Daisy said with a shrug.  With some stumbling and struggling they made it outside before Jimmy took his seat in the chair.  

“Are you sure you can manage it?”  Jimmy said.

“I don’t suppose you’re _very_ heavy,” Daisy said, as she wheeled him out of the yard.

It was a beautiful day outside, warm and sunny but not uncomfortably so.  Daisy was wearing a little straw hat.  Jimmy had changed into shirtsleeves and a pair of trousers cut around the cast on his shin.  It was nice just to be out of pajamas.

“It’s lovely out,” Daisy said brightly.  “Good to be outside for once.”

Jimmy nodded his agreement and sat back in the chair as they wheeled their way out onto the grounds of the estate.  “And you _are_ Daisy, yes?”

The two maids being named after plants and flowers, he got a dash confused sometimes.

Daisy was quiet for a long moment and then said, “Yeh, that’s right.” She sounded sad.

He wished people wouldn’t talk to him like he was some great walking (or rather, non-walking) tragedy.

“So what was I like?”  Jimmy said.  “Before. Why weren’t we friends?”

“We weren’t enemies neither,” Daisy said.  “But you’re so cocky, ya know?  Always tryin’ to prove somethin’.  And always flirting with Ivy-”

Cocky stupid Jimmy again. It made him not want to know about himself after all.

“Pshaw,” Jimmy scoffed.  “Mr. Barrow said the same.  Dunno why I would’ve though.”

“I can guess,” Daisy muttered.  “You took her out to the cinema and she came back in a state.  But I don’t think I ought to say more than that.”

All of this confused Jimmy to no end.  He couldn’t think why he’d take a girl out at all, much less one as dull as he’d found Ivy on first meeting her.  

Then again, maybe it wasn’t what it sounded it like.  Of course, the others might have misconstrued it.  Perhaps he’d only taken her out to be friendly or as a favor. Likely she’d been dull and boring and they’d fought.

Yes, Jimmy decided. That made much more sense.

“So we weren’t friends anyhow,” Jimmy muttered.  “Suppose my only friend was Mr. Barrow.  Sounds like it anyway.”

“I’d say so,” Daisy said, a little distractedly, as she wheeled him past the poplars.  “You do get on with him.”

“Does…” Jimmy cleared his throat and rubbed his knees. He attempted to sound casual.  “Does Mr. Barrow have a sweetheart?”

“Nooo,” Daisy said, tittering. “He never has done. Though I tried to make a go of it with him when I was young and simple.  He only ever teased me.”

“I see,” Jimmy murmured.

“For a minute I thought he liked Miss Braithwaite,” Daisy said. “Oh, she was a lady’s maid last year.  They seemed thick as thieves but then she vanished quick as she come in.  Then there’s Miss Baxter. They don’t seem to like each other these days. But he did bring her in.  I know that much.  Made me wonder if there was some heartbreak…  Maybe during the war.  But I’m just guessin’.  Thomas has always been sort of a mystery.”

“Oh.”

Well, that was discouraging.  And it did nothing to lighten Jimmy’ mood any.

And obviously Mr. Barrow didn’t know Jimmy fancied men.  Not the way he’d implied things about he and Ivy.

He wondered how Mr. Barrow would even react to something like that.  Not well, Jimmy assumed.

Daisy went on to talk about the rest of the downstairs people.  Jimmy could hardly keep track and his attention wandered.  What did he care of that sad-faced valet and his wife?  He wanted to know about Mr. Barrow.  Even if he was a lost cause as far any romance went.

It did occur to him that he was perhaps clinging to the one person who seemed to truly care about him in his vulnerable state.

Also, he was bloody gorgeous…

Upon their return, the idea that Mr. Barrow most likely preferred women was not enough to stop his cheeks warming as he staggered into the servants’ hall and saw the man sitting at the table, smoking. Jimmy made to take a chair and Mr. Barrow popped up to help him, putting an arm around him to ease him into a seat.

“Hello,” Jimmy said.

“Good walk?”  Mr. Barrow said around his cigarette.  “Er...roll?”

Jimmy thanked Daisy who disappeared back to the kitchen.  He nodded at Mr. Barrow’s smoke.  “Spare one?”

Mr. Barrow lit him a cigarette and gave it over.  “I’ll get you a pack next time I’m in the village.”

“Thanks.”  Jimmy said.  “Yeh, it’s nice out.  What’ve you been up to?  Are you very busy?”  
“Not very,” Thomas muttered, his eyes on his newspaper.

 _Then why couldn’t you have taken me out?_ Jimmy thought. But he wouldn’t say it.  It would sound petulant and possibly obvious.

But the thought stung.  Though maybe it hurt Mr. Barrow to be around the friend who didn’t remember him.

“How’s your head?’  Thomas asked.

“Aches a bit,” Jimmy said.  “Not too awful.”

The other kitchen maid, Ivy, wandered in to set a tray of tea on the table.  

“Hello, Jimmy,” she said softly.  “How are you?”

Jimmy barely registered her presence. His eyes were on Mr. Barrow whose eyes were on his newspaper.

“Fine,” Jimmy mumbled.

Ivy stepped up to Jimmy and clasped her hands in front of her.  She stood there silently for a moment and Jimmy just blinked at her and then looked at Mr. Barrow, mentally asking for help.

Ivy cleared her throat and said, “I...I just want you to know, Jimmy, I don’t hold nothin’ against you now.  Seein’ as how you don’t remember it anyway.”

He heard Mr. Barrow stifle a laugh.  
“Uh…” Jimmy shrugged.  “Alright. Well...seein’ as how I don’t remember, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Ivy patted him on the arm.  “It’s just as well.”

Jimmy just gawped at her.

“And how are you, Ivy?”  Mr. Barrow said, smiling up at her.  Jimmy saw the irony under his innocent expression and bit back a smirk.

“Oh, I’m tryin’ to get a group out to go the flicks,” Ivy said, sighing.  “But Daisy says it’s too expensive.”

At her remark, Jimmy felt the oddest sensation- the shadow of a dream passing through his mind, as if someone had just touched a memory for the briefest moment and then stopped.  He shivered and Mr. Barrow glanced at him.

“Alright?” Mr. Barrow said.  
“Yeah, I just…” Jimmy

shook his head.  “I think I almost remembered something.”

“Did you?” Mr. Barrow’s eyes lit up.  “What was it?”

“I...don’t know exactly.” He pointed at Ivy.  “It were somethin’ she said.”

“What’d I say?” Ivy said.

“About Daisy saying it was too expensive,” Jimmy said.  “Reminded me of something, but I don’t know what.”

Thomas said, “Did something...important ever happen, I wonder?  When Ivy said something like that before?”  He looked to Ivy for an explanation.

“I don’t know!”  Ivy said.  “Daisy says things are too expensive all the time! She’s very frugal!”

Thomas rolled his eyes.  “Well, think about it, would you?”

“I’ll try.”  She shrugged helplessly and took her leave.

_Daisy says it’s too expensive._

_Daisy says it’s too expensive…_

Jimmy groaned and lay his head on the table.  “It’s like it’s on the tip of my mind and I can’t get at it.”

“It’s something anyway.”  Mr. Barrow patted him on the shoulder and Jimmy wished he’d leave his hand there, but he didn’t.  “It’s a start.”

Jimmy distracted himself with the newspaper and asked Mr. Barrow about the goings on in the world.  He felt a little more cheerful, despite everything.  Even if this lovely Mr. Barrow liked women, just going outside had lifted Jimmy’ spirits. And there was the hope of returning memories.  Then Mr. Barrow had to go off to set up the saloon for an evening of guests and Jimmy was left alone again, but he didn’t much feel like going all the way up to his room and hung about in the servants’ hall.  Even when his head ached, he remained there skimming the paper until Mrs. Patmore happen to come in, and taking pity, offered him a powder for it.

“Poor lad,” she muttered on her way out.

Since he was there anyway, he ate dinner with the others.  Though it proved overwhelming to hear their chatter. They even tried to include him in the conversation in matters about which he knew nothing.  Who would Lady Mary end up with? He had no idea. He could hardly remember which one Lady Mary was, though he knew she had visited the hospital.  Jimmy could hardly bring himself to respond properly and he didn’t miss Mr. Barrow’s looks of concern.  Then Mr. Bates was going on and on about how well the estate seemed to be doing and Mrs. Hughes was talking to Mr. Carson about a visiting cellist and the talk all seemed very loud.  He took a bite of stew and it stuck in his mouth.  It was all a buzz building in his head and on top of that he felt like some creature from another planet amongst them.

He dropped his fork with a clatter.

Everyone looked at him.

“I don’t feel very well,” he mumbled.  

It was mortifying.

“I’ll help you back up to your room,” Mr. Barrow said quickly.

Mr. Carson began to speak and Mrs. Hughes hit him in the arm. “Oh, let them be,” she said quietly.

Mr. Barrow took Jimmy to his room and was about to leave when Jimmy stopped him.

“Oh, don’t go!” He blurted. He hated to be so nakedly desperate.  Though he had no memory, he knew he didn’t feel like himself.  The sensation of walking about like a raw nerve was familiar enough somehow, but the admitting of it was strange and vexing.

“I thought you’d want to be alone,” Mr. Barrow said, hovering by the door.

“No,” Jimmy muttered. “It was just too many people at once is all.  Feels like a bit much sometimes.  Too loud and...everyone acts like I’m supposed to know how to talk to em’ and I don’t.  But you’re...easier. To be around.”  He said the last quietly and spoke to his shoes as he sat on the bed.

 _Also I like to imagine you naked_ , Jimmy thought.

Mr. Barrow took two steps inside.  “Well, if you want me to stay a bit, of course I can.”

Jimmy couldn’t stop a smile and he nodded.  “Yeah! We could um… Oh, someone brought up Checkers. One of the hall boys, I think. If you like?”

“Checkers is fine,” Mr. Barrow said, chuckling.

Jimmy set the game up on a table and they started a game as Mr. Barrow told him about the news of the day.  He was careful to fill in the details that Jimmy was suppose to know, which he appreciated.  Somehow stories about the others were more entertaining coming from Mr. Barrow.

“And Lady Rose has got a new beau apparently,” Mr. Barrow was saying.  “Doesn’t seem like much.  But I expect they like him better than Jack Ross who I’m probably not suppose to know about.”  Jimmy tilted his head and Mr. Barrow went on.  “Oh, he was an American, a uh...dark skinned man, see.”

“Blimey,” Jimmy said.

“And a jazz singer to boot.  But it ended anyway.  I don’t know from which side.  Can’t imagine the Crawleys would have liked it much to say the least.”

“That must be hard though,” Jimmy said, careful with his words.  “I mean when you love someone you’re not supposed to?  
“Ah, well they’ve dealt with that before.  With Mr. Branson.  He was a chauffeur and then suddenly he was marrying Lady Sybil-”

“Lady Sybil?”  Jimmy frowned, he hadn’t heard the name before, though he’d met Mr. Branson and been confused as to how an Irishman who looked working class could possibly be in the family.

“The youngest sister.”  Mr. Barrow as glaring at the checkerboard.  “She died quite tragically.  In childbirth, a few years ago.  You’d just come on to work as a matter of fact.”

“You liked her then,” Jimmy supplied.

“I did,” Mr. Barrow said, and fidgeted with his mysterious glove.  “She was the kindest of them.  Very beautiful and very sweet.  We served together in the war, here in the village hospital.”

“I’m sorry,” Jimmy said quietly.  But he couldn’t help feeling sad quite selfishly, not for the tragedy of it, but because Mr. Barrow had obviously loved the young lady, if only from afar.  Coupled with what Daisy had said, it was clear now.  Mr. Barrow would never be his.

The conversation turned to Mr. Carson and why Mr. Barrow disliked him, which was a more cheerful subject.  Presumptuous, Mr. Barrow told him.  Stuffy, stuck in his ways, and insufferable.  It made Jimmy laugh.

They talked late into the night.  At times when Jimmy asked about his time at Downton, he got the feeling that Mr. Barrow wasn’t telling him everything.  Given what he had said about Jimmy before, he had to wonder if he had done things that Mr. Barrow thought he’d rather not know.

So he didn’t ask Mr. Barrow what he wasn’t saying.  Instead he just enjoyed the company of his friend.

In the days following, Jimmy started to feel marginally better.  Especially when Mr. Barrow would visit- at first he was tentative, but Jimmy fancied him terribly and so couldn’t help but greet him with a blushing grin every time.

A week passed of Jimmy laying about, excepting his daily jaunt outside- pushed in his chair by Daisy or Anna or, if he could make the time, Mr. Barrow.  Though Mr. Barrow’s companionship helped immeasurably, Jimmy still felt awfully useless, which made him fear for his future and gave him a terrible feeling of dread in his stomach.  He still got terrible headaches sometimes, though they were lessening at least.  He attended meals with the others when he felt up to it and they treated him with kid gloves.  That was annoying but, he supposed, understandable.  He supposed everyone’s reaction seemed wrong to him no matter what it was.  Dr. Clarkson came to check up on him and look at his leg, and said he was doing well.  Again, he had no idea when memories might return, if ever.

Finally, Jimmy demanded work.

“You want to work?”  Mr. Barrow said.  He seemed slightly amused.

“I’m going mad staying up here all the time, “Jimmy said.  He was also smoking a lot. Enough to make him ill, even now there was a cigarette in his mouth as he lounged on his bed in only his trousers.

If Mr. Barrow only liked women, he shouldn’t mind anyhow, he figured.  So sometimes he went without a shirt when Mr. Barrow visited.  And later it was fodder for his fantasies; that Mr. Barrow would give him a significant look and suddenly kiss him and push him down onto the bed.  

“I’ll see if I can find something for you to do then,” Mr. Barrow said.  “Might be polishing silver, is that alright?”

The words made him shudder in horror, though he had no specific memory of polishing silver.  Still…

“Yeah, it’s better than this,” Jimmy insisted.

As it turned out that was exactly the job he was given.  He set himself up on a stool in the silver room with rags and a jar of polish.  It was horribly dull, but the familiarity of it was comforting.  It did feel like something he had done a thousand times before.   Apparently it also impressed Mr. Carson who kept peaking in the door to see if Jimmy was, in fact, working.  He supposed it was just as well to ease back into his job.  

That evening Jimmy ate dinner with the others. He didn’t speak much, but he didn’t feel strange or overwhelmed either.  His head didn’t hurt and he felt like he’d had a good day even given such a tedious task.  He played cards with Mr. Barrow in the hall and Daisy mentioned that he had played the piano before his accident.  So Jimmy hobbled over to the piano and when he set his hands on the keys he found himself playing a scale and went into a rag.  It was eerie almost, but it cheered him and everyone else as the turned in their seats to watch.  When he was done they clapped and turned back to their business, but Mr. Barrow was standing behind him.  Jimmy gazed down at the keys as the others trotted off to bed, leaving them alone.  He hated the lump in his throat, but playing the piano was like seeing Mr. Barrow for the first time after the accident- so comforting and right.

“Did you have a good day?” Mr. Barrow said.  “You seem to be doing well…”

“Yes, not bad,” Jimmy said softly.  “Very good, in fact.  How do ya like my piano playing?”

Mr. Barrow paused so long that Jimmy almost repeated the question and then he said, “It’s the best thing I’ve seen or heard in years, I think.  Just to see you smiling like that, like the old days...”  

Jimmy felt Mr. Barrow’s hand on his shoulder and his heart leapt.  He leaned back against into Mr. Barrow who abruptly moved his hand away, but Jimmy reached up to take it in his and squeezed it, for he could hardly help himself.

“Thank you,” Jimmy whispered, and he truly didn’t want to let go.  He leaned his cheek against Mr. Barrow’s arm, his presence behind Jimmy so warm and solid.  He wanted Mr. Barrow to put his arms around him.  He prayed for it inwardly.

“I...think I ought to go up,” Mr. Barrow said, and his hand slid out of Jimmy’s grasp.  Jimmy didn’t respond and Mr. Barrow didn’t ask him if he needed help up the stairs like he usually did.   Jimmy felt it all slipping away like a phantom.   He remained there in the dead silence of the servants’ hall, his good day in ruins.

Because surely he had gone too far and shown his cards.  If Mr. Barrow didn’t know now, he must at least have an inkling that Jimmy not only liked men but liked him.  He shouldn’t have lounged about without a shirt.  He had thought it could be casual, but maybe he had been flaunting himself.  He shouldn’t have been so familiar; he had ruined everything.  If he drove Mr. Barrow away, he’d truly have nothing.  No friends, no memory of his life and thus really no life.  His brief sense of accomplishment at polishing the bloody silver seemed idiotic suddenly. He clenched his fists, his head hanging low over the piano keys, and wanted to weep.

When he finally hobbled up to the stairs and into his room, he was fighting tears, though he did manage to get to sleep.  But nightmares met him.  He was drowning again-drowning in the big empty building.  The abyss was pulling him down, down down as the building sank to the bottom of an infinite ocean.  He could see no light.  Perhaps there was no air to be had-only the cold dark water dragging him, dragging…

“Ah!”  Jimmy jerked and twitched in between sleep and wakefulness.  He was lying on the floor, tangled up in his blankets.  His leg ached and his eyes were wet.  And someone was knocking on the door.

“Jimmy?”  Mr. Barrow’s voice was soft but still demanding.  “Are you alright?”

“Come in,” Jimmy said, because if nothing else he couldn’t get back up by himself.

“I heard a noise...ah!”  Mr. Barrow knelt down beside him, his brows drawn down in concern.  “Are you hurt?”

“No.  Just...fell out of bed, I guess,” Jimmy grumbled.  Mr. Barrow helped him up and back onto his bed.  “Had a nightmare.”

“What about?”  Mr. Barrow said, sitting beside him.  

“I was...drowning,” Jimmy said, playing with his hands.  “Falling to the bottom of the sea.  Like when I first woke up in the hospital.  And there’s a big building all around me…  But I can’t grab onto anything… Feels like that sometimes.  Like I’ve got nothing.”  He felt so awfully pathetic.  He ducked his head, rubbing his eyes.  
“But that’s not true,” Thomas whispered.  “You’ve got me, always.  And...the others, of course. You always will have, Jimmy, you’ve…”

“Even after…?” Jimmy swallowed.  It was all such a tangle.  Had Mr. Barrow caught on or not?  Maybe he had and he didn’t care or maybe he hadn’t and Jimmy shouldn’t say anything.

“After…?”  Mr. Barrow’s voice was low.  They sat close on the bed.  “After what?”

“I...I wish I could say what I mean but I…” He shook his head and sniffed.

“You can say whatever it is,” Mr. Barrow insisted.  “Just...just tell me what I can do, Jimmy.  I’d do anything for you, I told you that.  I...I care for you a great deal.  More than anyone else.”

Jimmy’s rebellious eyes were still tearing up.  “You do?”  Their heads were bowed together.  Jimmy could still smell the last traces of Mr. Barrow’s cologne and a light sheen of sweat.  If they could just hold each other…  If he could just get closer…  It would be so comforting...

“Of course,” he said, and touched Jimmy’s arm.  “What can I do?  Tell me…”

Jimmy leaned in quickly and kissed him, though there were hot tears on his lips.  But Mr. Barrow’s mouth was unsurprisingly still and just as quickly Jimmy came to his senses and broke away.  “I’m sorry!” He whispered.  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

“I-it’s alright-”

“No, I’m just uh...upset and tired.” He risked a glance at Mr. Barrow, who looked blank with shock

_Fuck.  Fuck it all._

“Everything’s alright,” Mr. Barrow said slowly.  
“Please, I-I didn’t mean it.  I-I just need to sleep is all.  I’m half mad I’m so tired…”

“Of course.”  Mr. Barrow stood up and hovered awkwardly.  “We’ll...talk about it tomorrow.”  He ran a hand through his hair, his eyes skittering about the room.

“I’d sooner pretend it didn’t happen,” Jimmy muttered.  He sank his head in his hands.  
“Ah…”  Mr. Barrow rubbed his eyes.  

“God, you must think I’m _revolting_ ,” Jimmy whispered.

“No!”  Mr. Barrow said sharply, and much too loud.  “Never that.  And don’t ever think it about yourself.  But you do need to sleep.  I’ll...see you in the morning, Jimmy.  Just ah… I need to sleep as well...”

“Yeah…”

Mr. Barrow left then and Jimmy curled up on his side and clutched his blankets, cursing his impulsiveness and loathing himself into the wee hours.


End file.
